Cracked Perfected Images
by WaveGoodbye
Summary: Blanket of Stars -- Ashley's PoV
1. Evidence

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the words and the occasional OC.**

This is a five-parter on Ashley's PoV of Blanket of Stars. I'll try to post every couple of days.  
The first chapter is the alternate to "The Face of an Angel".

* * *

There are two types of death. One: Your heart dies. Two: Your body dies. With both, your eyes die first.

Many men and women alike, all over the world, have the perception that one's life ends with their last breath, when, in fact, the correct definition of the word "life" is: "The interval of time between one's birth and the present".

Before I moved to this small town, I didn't not believe in people being left behind after they die, but rather, seeing was believing.

After I moved to this small town, I did believe in people being left behind after they die, and rather, seeing was not always believing.

Now I've realised that most people I see day in and day out are merely corpses with a heartbeat.

I would know, after all, I've seen one everyday for as long as I can remember. She doesn't ever smile when I see her in the mirror unless I smile first and, even then, her smile is forever as false as mine. Her eyes are duller than I'd ever wish for mine to be and the words which leave her lips are so hollow that goosebumps almost form on my arms.

And each time I realise that girl staring back at me is myself, an ice-cold shiver runs from the crown of my head to the heels of my feet.

"Do you want some coffee?" is unexpectedly asked of me, interrupting my thoughts and causes me to choke on cereal I didn't realise I'd begun eating.

A sheepish apology is uttered from Spencer before I can even speak.

"God," I mutter. That's wasn't the first time she's done that, but at least this time I got an apology instead of uncontrollable laughter that always makes me smile, despite myself. She's lethal.

"I made your bed for you," I hear her say, probably as a peace offering. A chair moves away from the table.

I knew she would. "You didn't."

"Go and check. I'll sit here and wait for your apology," comes her almost mischievous reply.

I try not to smile. I love light banter like this. "If I got out of this seat, you would just float upstairs and quickly make it. You're sneaky like that," I tell her, hoping she'll smile.

"I don't float. How many times have I told you that?"

Her voice tells me she did.

"Yeah, yeah," I dismiss playfully before the sound of the pages of a newspaper being turned meets my ears. I know what page she's looking for. Looking into the bowl, I bring up a spoonful of cereal. "I would actually like some coffee."

"You know where it is," Spencer mumbles.

My head shakes as I stand up from the table to make a pot of coffee, carrying my now empty breakfast bowl. I'm consciously aware of how the corners of my mouth have turned upward without my consent.

"When are you going to ask me, Ashley?"

I don't turn around. I can't. She'll see how hard my face has suddenly fallen with the weight of her loaded question. "Ask you what?" I ask in deliberate avoidance.

"You know what."

My voice is quiet when I reply, "I don't want to know, I told you that."

"Why don't you want to know? I don't understand."

"Because," I almost whisper.

"Because, why?" she asks.

I hear her chair scrape against the floor. She must be on her way over here. "Because when I do, this becomes real." I look down to the coffee and close my eyes. My head shakes in wonder that a single question can alter my entire mood like it has clearly done. I can't be here now. "I don't want this anymore. I'm going to get dressed."

And I leave. I walk away from the eyes I can feel burning into me as I exit the kitchen and disappear upstairs.

The bedroom door closes behind me and I slump against it with closed eyes.

How is somebody expected to ask another a question whose answer will reveal how they died? How are they expected to hear that and not die, too? How am I supposed to hear that from _Spencer's_ warm voice and not drop down on the floor next to her?

* * *

Spencer has made sure I'm aware she's still here. She's been sighing for hours. She's also been looking at me for hours. I've felt it. I've felt her eyes almost glued to the side of my face and it isn't an unpleasant or uncomfortable sensation, I just wish she wouldn't do that right now. She's too observant for her own good and the things she will see if she keeps looking are only going to confuse her. After all, they're confusing me.

"Stay in tonight," she says. I'm not sure whether it was a question, or a demand.

Either way, it's too much. I suddenly remember the plans I made yesterday and fight not to sigh. I'd forgotten I'd agreed to go out with a boy. For a second, I can't remember his name. "I have a date tonight, you know that."

"I don't care. We need to talk, Ashley."

I'm tired of _talking_. I'm tired of guessing where she is. I'm tired of guessing what shade of blue her eyes are. I'm tired of guessing if her smile is as pretty as her laugh.

"_Talk_? All we ever do is talk. I don't know if you're aware of that."

"It hadn't escaped my notice."

Her voice was tense. She's frustrated, I know, but I am more. "Then stop talking and _do_ something."

"Do something like what?"

"I don't know! God, just…_something_. Something to remind me you're here."

"Ash-" she begins, sounding more defeated than I ever want her to sound. It frustrates me even further.

"Just forget it," I cut in before I stand up and turn to leave the room.

I feel something hit the back of my head a second before I hear, "I'm here! If you need me to hit you with something every day, then tell me. You don't talk to me. I don't read minds, Ashley. You have to talk to me."

I rub the back of my head. "That hurt, Spencer."

This is hurting me more.

"Good. Stay in tonight," she requests.

The tone of her voice makes me want to agree instantly; anything to remove that sadness from her voice, but I don't. I can't. "I can't," is forced out.

"Please," she pleads.

With the sudden ache of the muscle in my chest, my eyes close. "I can't, Spencer. Please don't ask me again."

The front door is quickly opened and slammed shut, and my panic suddenly forms and increases tenfold. She can't leave like this. She can't go out there to the cold, dark night and cry because of me. I can't let that happen again.

I'm wrenching open the front door before I even registered the fact my feet were moving. My eyes naively scan the street. I yell her name before I have the chance to think of who else could possibly hear me, and I yell it again, not giving myself the chance to _care_ who else could possibly hear.

Unless it's Spencer, how could I _possibly_ care?

Lately, being in the house I'm supposed to call home has been like being on a psychiatric ward, anyway. Everything and nothing makes sense. It's been that way since I heard Spencer say three terrifying words in my bedroom and I actually yelled for my father.

I hadn't done that since I was a little girl.

The door closes harshly and I walk back to the living room on autopilot, perching on the edge of the couch. I rapidly tap my knees in frustration, wanting nothing more than to throw the nearest vase filled with ugly flowers across the room. I don't. Only because my parents notice a broken vase more than a look of anguish.

I stand up and grab my coat. I have to get out of here.

* * *

My coat does nothing to keep the cold night air from my already quivering body and I wrap my arms around myself, unnecessarily rubbing my arms even though it's mainly my midsection that's cold. It's my insides that are dithering from a cold that always seems to seep in for an impending conversation you're dreading.

I wonder where she is. I wonder if she's crying.

I hope she's safe. I hope she's smiling.

In the six blocks I've walked, five of them have faulty street lights. All of them are flickering so much that I question if I'm on the set of a slasher movie and I'm the next one to be gutted like a fish.

And then I wonder if I'm one of the ones who have already been gutted and are pushing their hands against the wound in a futile attempt to stop the blood-flow.

I've wondered where her family is. Countless times, I've wondered why she doesn't mention them or isn't with them. The reason I haven't asked her why is because the answer is potentially more heartbreaking than I could ever comprehend, more heartbreaking than I'd ever ask her to relive, and more heartbreaking than I could ever stand to hear in her angelic voice.

I exhale deeply, noticing the cloud it creates in front of my face.

As the sound of my heels resonate in this dark, quiet street, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end as if someone is watching me. Not hearing any following footsteps behind me, I turn to look to the other side of the street.

Someone is sitting on the edge of the sidewalk. They're actually sitting on the freezing cold floor in mid-November.

I feel the frown creasing my forehead and I try to place the girl I can see. I wonder if she lives close-by because I feel like I've seen her a hundred times over and I don't even know her name. I can't tell if she looks upset, or if she just looks stunned. Maybe it's both.

Before I can stop myself, I'm walking over to her. Sitting down by her, I turn my head to ask, "Do I know you?"

Her eyes widen like I've just pulled out a samurai sword and held it to her throat.

Strangely, it makes me smile faintly. If I could stop thinking about Spencer, maybe it would have been bigger and more genuine. She probably thinks I'm crazy or using a bad pick-up line. "Yeah, you. I'm sorry, I just feel like you're…," I trail off. Something isn't making sense.

She stumbles to stand up and I follow, wanting to apologise for freaking her out.

And then I see.

I see blonde hair.

I see the bluest eyes I've ever seen and a face so devastatingly beautiful that it can only belong to one person.

"Oh my god," I rush out. She's….

Her head nods in agreement.

"Say something," I demand. I have to know.

She looks almost shy as she slides her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "Hey," leaves her lips.

With one soft-spoken word, my entire being falls apart and comes back together again. "Oh my god." Over a heart that's never beat this fast and slow before, I barely hear the repeated words leave my lips.

"You said that already," she says with a smile.

Spencer is smiling at me.

_Spencer_ is smiling at _me_.

I don't have to wonder anymore: her smile is just as pretty as her voice.

Her smile is so pretty that I wonder if I've suddenly lost my voice. My eyes scan over her face and the fact I can see her, with the added fact she's the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen, makes me want to lie down. Almost as if laying on the cold floor will shock me back into reality and slow down how fast my mind has begun to race.

My head shakes in awe. Can eyes really be that blue? "You're, uh…."

"Yeah," she answers, still staring back into my dumfounded eyes.

"I-I mean you're…oh my god," I stutter out like a simpleton.

She smiles again. "Not quite."

"Why can I see you now?"

"I don't know," she responds sincerely.

And then she does something that makes my heart leap up to my throat.

She looks away from me.

"No, don't. Look at me," I insist, desperately.

_God_…I can see her.

Eyes that match the ocean meet mine. "Don't cry," she says quietly with a soft crease on her forehead, almost as if she can't stand me being upset.

Hearing the sound of her voice and looking at her through tear-filled eyes — which are making hers seem even bluer — has raised goosebumps all over my body. "Oh, my god," I whisper. This is so surreal.

I wonder how her eyes can look so alive after her being dead for over a year.

"Do you want to go back?"

"I don't know. What if we move and I can't see you again?"

"We'll walk slow. As soon as anything changes, we'll stop. Okay?"

I think of declining Spencer's offer when I realise her arms are uncovered. It's freezing out here tonight. I should get her back inside the warm house. I nod in response, not trusting my voice. My feet are glued to the earth when she takes a step toward me.

"Come on." She leans her head in the opposite direction to where I was originally walking. "Let's go home."

Spencer doesn't laugh when I nearly walk into a streetlight on the way home. I can barely look away from her.

She's beautiful.


	2. A Million Miles High

**AN: This chapter's alternate PoV is "Stars Fall Like Dust"**

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* * *

Sitting on a swing with my hands hiding inside the sleeves of my coat so I can't feel the stinging-cold of the metal chains, and looking around the grey, heavy-clouded landscape, I have them in my pocket. I have them folded up into a square with fold-lines that are thicker and less sharp than they originally were, raised and puckered from the countless times I've unfolded and re-folded them.

I've looked at them so much that I think I'd know the way there even if I lost the paper.

On the paper, printed in black ink, are the directions to Spencer's aunt and uncle's house. From Lakewood to Columbus, it's going to be a long five hours by myself in the car I'm borrowing from my parents, with only my thoughts to keep me company.

The sub-zero temperatures of this state must have finally sent me crazy because I'm going to drive a hundred and forty miles to break and enter someone's house to steal an item that belonged to Spencer when she had a heartbeat.

"Have you ever seen a porno?" Spencer asks me suddenly.

Yeah, I've definitely lost it. Spencer wouldn't ever ask me a question like that. Still, my feet have hit the floor hard and my swinging-body comes to an abrupt halt. "What?"

"I was just wondering."

That's unbelievable. "I can't believe you, Spencer Carlin, just asked me if I've ever seen a porno."

She's still swinging lightly. "Oh, whatever." She chuckles cutely. "Just answer me."

Her sparkling eyes make me want to swallow thickly. Instead, with suddenly dry lips, I begin swinging again, using my legs to move my body back and forth through the air instead of resting my weight on only one of them to lean across and make her eyes widen in surprise.

"I've seen a porno, yeah." I laugh a second later when I picture the look of surprise she'd have on her face if I _did_ lean my body across to hers. "You are so weird."

She laughs with me —clearly oblivious to the real reason of my laughter— and lifts her legs higher, swinging faster. She jumps off mid-swing and lands on her feet an impressive distance away from me.

She's such a little show off. "Show off," I comment, voicing my thoughts.

Her sudden cute, bright smile makes me never want to stop smiling. I pick up my bag from the floor next to me and put it over my shoulder. It's mostly empty. It's just so I have something to carry whatever I get for Spencer. "You need to…oh, how can I put this?" I ask theatrically.

She snaps her fingers, looking playfully impatient.

"You need to stay away from me today."

And she really does; even though the image of her suddenly popping up in the passenger seat as I'm on the freeway nearly makes me smile.

She juts out her bottom lip playfully. "Why?"

I begin walking to the exit of the park. It's getting too late for me not to head to Columbus soon. "Because."

"Because," she mocks gently, walking in step with me to leave the park.

"I'm getting your Christmas gift today and I don't want you to see," I explain.

"Exciting," she drawls cutely. "What is it?"

"You'll see in a couple of days."

"You're so mean to me. I hope you know that."

I'm trying not to smile. "You won't think so when you see what it is." At least, I hope. "Sit down," I tell her, pointing to a bench. It's never too late to enjoy a few more minutes with her.

"Lazy, thy name is Ashley."

I chuckle and sit down also, our bodies further apart than I want them to be. Thinking about what I'm going to do today, I pray I won't get caught. Living with Spencer in a nine by twelve cell, surrounded by too many others, doesn't sound like my idea of a good time.

"Ashley, your hand."

I withdraw it so fast I'm lucky I didn't smack myself in the face. "I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

"Yeah." She nods.

I search her eyes for the truth and relax when I know she's okay. "I like this." I point to us both. "I like walking with you when it's cold. It actually feels like Christmas this year. When I was little, I used to wish for a white Christmas every year with my birthday wish."

A white Christmas, and that my parents would agree to put up the decorations when I inevitably begged them to.

I never got either.

"I like this, too," she concurs before looking up toward the sky.

Her eyes are making short, quick movements over the sky that, even on the best day, could never compare. Her slender neck is exposed and it would be so easy for me to just press my lips against it. The only reason I don't is because I wouldn't want to hurt her. She's the best kind of beautiful — the oblivious kind.

"I think it's going to snow tonight, maybe tomorrow morning," Spencer continues, quickly looking back to me.

I don't have time to remove the look in my eyes or the expression I'm positive is gracing my face, but it doesn't even bother me.

"What?" she asks with a small shrug and a slight turn of her head, looking shy.

I still can't get over how beautiful you are.

"Nothing," I reply softly.

"Don't be gone too long today," is all she says.

* * *

Parking a few houses down, I exited the rented vehicle and felt the apprehension in my stomach for what I was about to do. I'd never even entertained the idea of breaking into someone else's house before and I knew with certainty that I'd never even _consider_ it again, but I had to do this today.

I have to give Spencer her life back. Even if it's only a small part.

If I could do anything, I'd fly to the best, most advanced scientists in the world and demand for them to bring her back.

I'd demand for them to make her heart beat again.

With my eyes glued to the house I had to sneak into (using an open back window), I saw a woman leave the house and walk to the only car in the driveway.

I wondered if she hugged Spencer the last time she saw her, I wondered what the last present she bought her was, and I wondered if she has memories as wonderful as mine of Spencer.

Now that I'm inside the empty house, I'm mainly concerned with getting what I came here for and leaving as fast and undetected as I can.

My eyes scan around the living room and come to an abrupt halt when I see blue eyes that can and _do_ give me butterflies at any given time of the day. There's a photograph resting inside a frame on a shelf on the wall ten feet away from me.

Unlike how I've imagined I'd react if I saw her photograph, I walk over to it slowly and, with hesitant hands, pick it up. She's standing next to a boy with curly hair who has his arm around her shoulder. They're both wearing smiles that I can see in their eyes just as much. Tracing down the side of her face with my finger, I close my eyes.

I have to stop this. I have to stop feeling like this. I have to erase the fact that I would do absolutely anything for her from my mind.

And as I re-open my eyes and see her _alive_, I know I'll never be able to.

I wonder how her eyes are still so alive when she's been through what she's been through. I wonder why she's not the angriest person in the entire world. I wonder how her grief doesn't consume her.

Knowing Spencer's relatives would notice this photograph missing, I place it back on the shelf and move through the house. I end up in a bedroom that is half-filled with boxes.

I find the stack which has "Spencer" written on the sides of them with black marker and walk over to them, running the pads of my fingers back and forth over a corner before I kneel down and pull the top one onto the floor.

Opening it, a choking lump forms at the base of my throat and rises up. I swallow to push it back down. It's full of her clothes that still smell _just_ like her.

An old hoodie of hers is suddenly against my face and I'm breathing in her scent like it's my oxygen and I've been underwater for far too long.

Tears fill my eyes faster than anything.

Grieving for Spencer when I live with her is turning out to be the hardest thing I've ever had to endure. The painful lump is rising again, climbing to spread up to even the roof of my mouth.

Not being able to help myself, I place the Spencer-smelling material on the floor gently —almost as if it's Spencer herself— before I unbutton my coat and pull it from my body. The hoodie is quickly pulled over my head and my hands pull it down my midsection and just past my hips. I smooth the material down, getting it as close to my body as I possibly can.

And then I raise my arm, burying my head in the crook of it to inhale once again.

As cliché as this could potentially sound: It smells like home.

I keep it on as I sift through each box with her name on it, sometimes smiling at the things I see and sometimes crying, all the time staring intently like I've just discovered a brand new world.

In a way, I have.

Even the most seemingly insignificant item is making my mascara burn my eyes as a choked laugh bubbles out of me. Her French book. The highest grade she got was a "D-"

As I reluctantly put her things back in the boxes I found them in, I breathe in the fragrance that still clings to the material of her clothes and trace my fingers across her name written on her school books.

I keep one box open, knowing I'm not going to take off this hooded top until it's absolutely necessary.

One of the boxes has "Photographs" written on it and on my knees, I crawl over to it and kneel in front, pulling the top open. My eyes are wide with enchantment as I see each picture of Spencer. She's posing on most of them: A bright, wide smile overshadowing any and every other person.

On each picture I see where she's with her brother, they both have that look on their faces; the one that says how much they love each other, but would never say it. At least not out loud.

On each picture I see where she's with one or both of her parents, they all have that look on their faces; the one that is screaming how proud they are of each other.

I stare at a picture of just her parents and try to imagine what they were like. They must have been the best parents in the world to raise someone like Spencer.

Then I see a candid picture of Spencer which makes me laugh, outright. She's at the bottom of the stairs in our house, frowning deeply with her palm out-stretched in front of her like she's trying to block the view of the camera. She has the cutest bed-hair I've ever seen and a face free of makeup.

And I stare at it, captivated.

After a few minutes, I notice her hand is blocking something in the wrong direction. It wasn't the camera. I wonder what she was trying to hide from.

I put the photograph inside my bag. I'm going to keep that one.

Slowly going through albums, my heart is heavy for Spencer with each picture I see of her with her family. They all looked like best friends.

Soon after, I find four prints of the same family photoshoot. There's only one of them where they're all looking into the camera smiling, the others have someone looking away. One has only Spencer looking into the camera, right into my eyes; one has only her parents looking into the camera, right into my eyes; one has only her brother looking into the camera, right into my eyes; and one has Spencer's family looking at her with looks of love in their eyes. Her lips are pursed like she's just said something sarcastic about posing stiffly and is trying not to laugh.

That's the one. That's the one I have to get printed in a bigger size and give her on Christmas morning.

As I pick up another album, a CD drops out from inside the pages. With it between my fingers, I look around the room instinctively for a DVD player to view the pictures on.

In the corner, I see one, and as I crawl across the carpeted floor to reach it, I can smell the scent of Spencer strongly. Stronger than I ever have in the past.

Pressing play and looking fixedly at the television screen, my eyebrows draw closer together when I hear music. It's suspenseful, creepy —the kind you hear in a Hitchcock movie— and is almost making my heart speed up until a sleeping Spencer comes into focus; and then it pounds.

The camera work is shaky until it's right in front of Spencer's sleeping form. For a few seconds, I pause it, smiling. When play is resumed, I hear a male voice yell, drawling out, "Here's Johnny!" and I laugh when Spencer's eyes shoot open and she screams, jumping up in her bed.

And then all I hear is a deep, rich laughter and Spencer yell "Glen!" before the camera falls to the floor and her brother screeches at her to stop slapping him, telling her that she needs to toughen up.

Seconds later and out of view, Spencer is laughing.

And my heart is aching.

When it goes to black, I reach a hand out to skip back to the beginning when it comes into focus again.

Her parents are sitting at a table eating breakfast.

"You should have seen her, Mom. She nearly shit herself." Glen laughs.

Glen and Spencer's father, whose name I know to be Arthur, throws him an amused smile until he's sent a look by his wife that causes it to drop off suddenly. "Language, Glen," he warns, clearly only for the benefit of his wife.

"I saw her bedroom light on all night," Glen chuckles out.

Glen and Spencer's mother, Paula, is trying not to smile but you can see it in her eyes. "She's not going to be happy with you today. God help you, is all I can sa-"

"Shh," Glen cuts her off. Seconds later, he shoots up from the table. "She's awake. Dad, get the camera."

Everyone hurries from the table and with shaky video-camera work, I see Arthur holding a digital camera, his arms raising in the air.

And then I see a flash of blonde, messy hair that turns the corners of my lips up instantly.

A second later I hear, "Here's Johnny!" as the camera rapidly moves toward an exhausted, beautiful Spencer.

Her hand over the view-finder blocks any images, but I hear a sharp slap and a girly male scream.

It goes black.

And now I want to kiss Spencer more than I've ever wanted anything.

* * *

Tonight is the night of the Christmas Party I have to attend with my parents and it would be an understatement to say that I'm not looking forward to it. I've been going to them longer than I can remember.

It would be tolerable with Spencer there.

But she isn't attending. She _insists_ on staying home tonight to do god knows what. If she did keep me company tonight, I would be the one in more pain by the end of the night. I'm the one who will be attending the party in three-inch heels and be introduced as "little Ashley" by my parents.

With the birthday's they've missed, I'm still nine years old.

"You know you're going to say yes at the last minute," I tell her with what I hope to be conviction in my voice.

"I have things to do tonight and attending a party is not one of them."

"You'll miss me," I warn her.

I'll miss her more.

"The time apart will do us good."

Laughable. "Says who?"

"Says me."

I'm not convinced. My hand hits off the mattress we're sitting on. "Spence! Stop being so stubborn. It's Christmas Eve, I'll be bored if you don't come with me. These parties take, like, five hours. At least."

Five hours away from you on Christmas Eve will be a lifetime.

"I'll be here when you get back," she assures me.

I don't want her to be alone on a night like this. A night where she's most assuredly missing her family more than ever. I want to distract her with cleverly disguised comments that hide what I'm really trying to say.

But I can tell she's okay with having a few hours to herself, so I don't make more of a fuss. She knows I'll speed home if she needs me.

After she's left the room, I put my hand inside my pillowcase and bring up the picture I have to be careful she doesn't see, and I smile, tracing her pyjama-wearing, exhausted, makeup-free, gorgeous face.

She barely looks any younger. It must have been taken not long before she came to me.

I slide it back to its hiding place and walk over to the closet to find the outfit I'd chosen a week ago. An outfit I chose on how much I thought Spencer would like it.

And I'm more careful than ever when I fix my hair and apply makeup for her.

As I descend the stairs, my heart is racing in anticipation. I hope she doesn't think I've gone overboard. When I reach the bottom of them and see Spencer's mouth fall open and awe-filled eyes, I know that every second I took to get ready was more than worth it.

"How do I look?" I ask, looking her in the eyes.

My father tells me I look lovely —something he hasn't done in years— and my mother tells me we're going to miss a good parking space if we don't leave soon. All the time, I can't speak. Not when she's looking at me like that.

It feels like an eternity before I can say, "I'll be there in a second, I just have to get my purse" and point toward the kitchen.

I left it in there earlier. Purely for the reason I knew it would buy me a few more seconds with Spencer if she didn't eventually give in to my pleads of attending the party with me.

"You look…," Spencer trails off, shaking her head.

My body is warmer than normal. I mess with my hair self-consciously. "Yeah, well, it's Christmas. You have to make an effort at this time of year, right?"

I hope you know it was all for you.

"Amazing, beautiful, captivating, stunning, I could go on."

Wearing those jeans and that simple grey t-shirt, so do you. "You're just trying to butter me up because you won't keep me company tonight."

She smiles, shaking her head. "No, you look incredible. Really."

I hope my eyes are telling you that you do, too. Always. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

I faintly hear the honk of a horn and hurry into the kitchen to grab my purse I left on the counter, joining Spencer moments later.

"I'll see you later?" I have to ask.

"You will," she confirms.

"You promise?"

"I promise."

I can breathe easier. "My phone is on me." I gesture to my purse, needing to look away from her for a second so I can force my legs forward and leave this house.

She nods. "I'll call if we're being robbed."

After the car horn sounds again, I reluctantly leave.

* * *

As soon as we enter the large room filled with men and women of all shapes, sizes, and ethnic backgrounds, I roll my eyes. Different party; different state; different decorations; different outfits; same people.

Tonight, my mother's hand is at the small of my back —the only time it's ever on me— and she's leading me toward a group of people like I'm somehow the main attraction; like I'm the cute baby people stop to coo at.

My smile is as false as everyone else's when she introduces me as "little Ashley".

It's a little less false when I'm offered a glass of wine.

I guess it's time to party with the dead people.

I'm counting down the hours until I can see Spencer.

* * *

"You could have been more talkative, Ashley."

I don't respond to my mother as she drives us home. I'm pre-occupied.

"You didn't have to be so rude," she continues.

"What am I supposed to say to a sixty-year-old accountant?" I frown. "I asked how the brie was."

"Oh, how much that must have put you out," she mocks.

I didn't mind the accountant. He was actually quite funny negotiating prices for a single rose. I'd never admit that to my mother, though. "Shut her up," I tell my father.

I didn't have to attend that stupid party. I didn't have to put a fake smile on my face when she introduced me. I didn't have to say lie and say "The best" when a woman asked me what kind of mother she was. I didn't have to acknowledge the demanding look in her eyes when they were telling me to kiss her cheek after the woman smiled falsely and said "Oh, how sweet!" in the same manner to my response.

"Don't you talk about your mother like that," he replies firmly. Loudly.

It's pathetic. They're both sleeping with other people.

I don't answer them. We're pulling onto the driveway and my door is open before my seatbelt is even unplugged. I should ask Spencer to put a white sheet over her head and run into their bedroom tonight to scare the shit out of them.

If I ask her, I know she will.

With an almost heartbreaking certainty, I know she would do absolutely anything for me; just as I would for her.

Pulling my key from my purse, I push it into the lock just before my parents reach the door and step inside, quickly kicking my shoes off my throbbing feet. Hiding my left hand behind my back in case Spencer is in there, I walk to the closed door of the living room and push it open.

And the single white rose that's —for now— tackily sitting inside a half-filled bottle of Evian I brought from the bar tonight nearly drops to the floor.

With the room which has a large, decorated Christmas tree in the corner, a gasp leaves my lips and I feel my heart thud in my chest.

"Oh my god," my parents say, almost in unison. "Who did this?"

My angel, of course. Who else?

"Ashley, are you okay?" my father asks after I assume he can hear my heartbeat.

I can't speak.

"Ashley," he repeats.

I smile.

_Spencer_.

Pushing past them, I run. I run so fast up the stairs to where I know Spencer will be that I'm surprised I don't miss a step and fall on my face. My feet come to an almost screeching halt when I enter the bedroom.

It's decorated, too.

And then I realise all the boxes are gone. She's unpacked.

She's made this room _mine_.

Nobody has ever done anything like this for me. Nobody has ever stolen my breath like this.

Nobody else ever will.

"Spence," I almost whisper as I meet her eyes that are sparkling from the light. It's the loudest I can speak.

"Do you like it?" she asks, unnecessarily.

How could I not? How could I not have to curl my toes in an attempt not to rush over to her and wrap my arms around her neck, never wanting to let go? How could I not want to kiss her more than ever before?

"You have no idea what this means to me," I tell her, stepping further into the room.

She hasn't noticed the bottle of water with her flower sitting inside yet and —without breaking eye-contact— I lean to the side and put part of her Christmas present for tomorrow on my dresser, behind a large lamp.

Spencer takes a deep breath and moves off the bed to stand up. "Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?" she asks.

I smile faintly at the memory. "You told me earlier. I said, 'thank you'."

She smiles and I fight not to close my eyes. What she's done for me tonight…. "God, I don't even know what to say to you," I tell her.

It's a lie.

I know that if I even begin thanking her for what she's done I will say something stupid. I'll _ask_ her to do something even more stupid.

I'll ask her to hurt herself to kiss me.

Spencer smiles again. "This can only happen once, okay?"

"What?"

And then she steps forward into my personal space where I force myself to move away from her. "What are you doing? You're going to hurt yourself."

"Stay still," she demands, her eyes on mine.

My heart pounds loudly in my ears as she steps even closer.

It stops when her perfect arms go around my already quivering body and pull us together for the first time. A second after we both gasp I feel a heart almost jump-start with a fierce thud, a pause, and finally a rapid pound as I smell her scent more prominently than ever. More prominently than when I was wearing her hoodie.

The heartbeat I can feel is hers.

It _has_ to be.

Just for tonight, it has to be. I can't have anyone tell me any different.

With my arms locked around her waist, attempting to pull her closer, I rest my head on her shoulder. Not being able —or wanting— to stop myself, I breathe in the scent that is uniquely Spencer and I try to remember it, knowing I'll never be able to remember until the next time I actually smell it and then I'll wonder how I even forgot.

She feels better than anyone I've ever had to awkwardly hold before. She feels more _real_ than anyone I've ever had to awkwardly hold before. And as I stand here, alive for the first time in my life, I know I'm shaking.

"Spencer," I whisper, trying to swallow the lump in my throat and push back the scalding tears in my eyes.

"Yeah?" she whispers back.

"Will you kiss me?" I can't stop myself from asking. I can't stop myself from wishing she'd do more than kiss me. "Please, just once," I almost plead.

She has no idea how much I need her to.

And she pulls back. Her slender fingers wipe away the tears on my face and I fight not to lean into her hands when they briefly cup the sides of my face as she brushes my hair away from my face.

I'm not sure how I don't release a pathetic sob when I see her begin to lean in, and I'm not sure how I don't literally fall to the floor when her soft, warm lips press against mine.

All I can do is respond, just barely, until she carefully pulls back and rubs her thumb across my lips to seal her kiss.

I open my eyes to see hers which nearly knock me off my feet.

Her face is contorted.

I can't breathe.

"Are you all right? Did I hurt you?" leaves my lips in a naïve hope.

I know how much that must have hurt her and I know how much I wish there was something I could do to make it stop.

"Let's go to bed, we can talk tomorrow."

My head shakes. "I won't sleep unless I know you're okay."

I _can't_ ever sleep unless I know she's okay.

The pain looks like it has lessened. Her face relaxes noticeably. "I'll be okay." She gestures to the hallway. "I'll wait out there so you can get changed."

And she walks away as I follow her, not looking back as she closes the door behind her. I slump against it, leaning my forehead against the cool surface.

She kissed me.

She let me kiss her back.

* * *

This time I don't reluctantly pull my eyes away after a second of staring at her lips.

People usually associate heaven with the sky.

The sky can generally go up to sixty miles before you're in space.

"You really do look like an angel tonight," I tell Spencer earnestly, feeling my eyes grow heavier than I can hold them open.

She's a million miles high.


	3. She Lives on Disillusion Road

**AN: This chapter is the alternate to "Almost Lover".**

**xxMaNdYxx -** lol Thank you.

**DeadWitchReading -** I doubt I deserve all of those...but I do always smile when I see you're happy with the chapters ^_^. I'm sorry it's so sad! I wish I could tell you it's going to get fluffier/more upbeat with the next chapter but it really, really isn't lol. That was my original message for THIS story: That she was just _so _sad and lonely before Spencer and (how someone else put it on some feedback I received on this), she didn't "end" her life at the end, she finally began it. With Spencer. Aw, I'm so glad you liked that scene! :D

**Conscious -** Just before Christmas? Fuck. Better you than me, is all I can say. It could happen! Thank you for my no-help-at-all suggestion? Don't mention it!

**jenna -** Thank you :]

**xvolcolm11x -** Aw, thank you :D. No way, don't apologise. People telling me their favourite parts in each chapter, equals awesome. Promise. Thanks again :]

**NotxxWhatxxItxxSeems -** Sorry! Aw, lotsa school stuff to do? No worries, it'll all be worth it. Lucky for you, that's this chapter (her going to see Spencer's grave). Then, the alternate chapter to when Spencer disappears and finally, where Spencer gets hit by that car in the street. No death chapter, sorry. I didn't want to write it. Still, I hope the chapter's I DID write about are enough to satisfy you. You aced all your classes? That's so great!

**lexj -** lol Sorry I didn't :P

**Coachkimm -** Thank you muchly. Unfortunately, no. I decided not to write that chapter.

**angelperry7 -** Aw, thank you very much!

* * *

Spencer's words are haunting me in the way that only hers could. They've been softly echoing throughout the day and made me lose my appetite just that little bit more with each repeated seven-word statement.

_"We need to go to the cemetery tomorrow."_

Her request is ridiculous. I don't have to go, I don't have to prove the words I meant more than anything, I don't have to prove how much I need her here.

Deep down inside of me, I know I have to go, I know I have to prove the words I meant more than anything, and I know it isn't about proving how much I need her here. It's about tearing my disillusions to shreds.

It's about pulling that band-aid away from a wound you aren't sure is healed. It's about that first tentative step forward on a freshly healed ankle-bone and you're just waiting to see if you crumble to the ground under the sudden pressure.

I didn't speak to her much after our confessions. I couldn't. I still feel like I'm trying to process the most ancient, cryptic language.

My parents gave me the customary wad of cash and told me to buy whatever I wanted because they didn't know what I liked. I've been getting four hundred dollars every Christmas since I was little, and instead of staring at it with confusion and disappointment written all over my face as I did two Christmases in a row, I merely glanced at it and wondered what I should buy for Spencer.

The first thing that came into my head was a coat.

She tells me she can feel the soft breezes in the spring and the chill of the winter air but it's a different sensation to before, and as much as I know she would never lie to me, there's always a small part of me that believes she is.

There's always a small part of me that believes she's sleeping peacefully in a hospital bed and it's only a matter of time before she opens her pretty eyes.

And then I got that sixty-year-old accountant's phone number from my mother so I could ask him which florist that single white rose was from.

Whether or not this body is strong enough to literally make it outside that front door tomorrow, I want flowers to be with her. I want them to be with her family, too.

I didn't smile when I felt Spencer quickly reach over and put a Santa hat on top of my head because I knew if I did she would smile like _that_ in response.

I know I've never been more relieved when the champagne was poured into the flute. I know I had to restrain myself to watch the tiny gas bubbles rise up to the surface and pop, their mark left on the inside of the glass before I slowly raised it and mumbled out, "Merry Christmas and all that jazz" and downed the liquid that burned all the way down to my stomach in one go.

What has to happen tomorrow burns it more.

I was disappointed when my dad told me he and my mother would be going out shortly —casually adding on the fact I wasn't invited— but not surprised. Each year I wish they'd just spend an afternoon with me or ask which bands I like, what my dreams are, but they never do.

Spencer both added to and took away the pressure in my chest when she walked right up behind my mother and tugged on a lock of her hair. I don't think I've seen my mother's eyes that wide before.

And know I've never been this open. I've never been so acutely aware of an impending heartbreak, but I can't stop it. I can almost hear the warning honks of the car headed right for me.

I can almost hear the audience screaming at me to run faster before Michael reaches the other side of the street.

Ordering those flowers and having them delivered on Christmas day took more than half of the money I'd been given earlier.

I didn't mind one bit.

Just like I don't mind laying next to her in this bed that always feels too big, studying her; just like my eyes don't mind their countless repeated journey of the contours of her face; and just like my heart doesn't mind not beating for a little while.

I know it's going to hurt more than anything to go to the cemetery tomorrow. It'll hurt me because it'll hurt Spencer. She's going to see the graves of her family.

I don't know if I can see the overwhelming sadness that will certainly overshadow the bright sparkle that's usually there.

"I don't want to go tomorrow," leaves my lips, almost inaudibly.

Spencer's eyes are sincere when she replies with, "I know."

"I don't think I can do it," I confess, as the rational part of my mind breaks through and acknowledges the real reason for my trepidation tomorrow.

It chokes me.

"I'll be right there next to you, I promise," she replies, in an attempt to quell the raging fear that's suddenly making itself known for the first time in hours where I've tried to be oblivious.

Tomorrow, after forcing down at least a bite of the breakfast I know Spencer will make for me, I'm going to have to stand right next to the spot where they lowered her cold, broken body into the ground over a year ago and be expected not to die, too.

And then it's gone. I'm not afraid of that anymore. I'm just afraid for Spencer.

I don't have anything to be worried about.

Except for now, because she's just switched the lights off and I can barely see her.

"What are you doing?" I ask her. "I can barely see you."

I feel her push herself up on one arm to look at me. "Your eyes were closed."

"I can't fall asleep unless I know I'll be able to see you when I wake up."

"Are you tired?" she asks, sounding like she already knows my answer.

"I'm exhausted," I confess.

"Let me hold you until you fall asleep," comes her softly-spoken request.

As much as I need her to, I'm more concerned with how much I'll hurt her. "No, I won't hurt you again."

I feel her shift closer to me inside the bed. "I don't want you to be sad anymore, Ashley. And I want to feel you again, I need to."

"Spence, I don't know if you should."

"Turn around," she asks of me.

My eyes find hers in the darkness and it doesn't even take a second of me looking into them to know that she needs to be as close to me as I do her.

Turning around in this large bed, I'm not breathing. I can't. Not when I can feel her moving closer underneath the covers; close enough for me to turn around and press my body tightly against hers and kiss her exactly how I want to.

And as soon as her body presses against me, I sigh lowly, breathing out a disbelieving puff of air that someone can feel _this_ good and the fact she _needs_ to hold me.

I've never let anyone else hold me before, but I can't stop myself from shifting back, further into her arms. I can't stop the tears that are forming in my tired eyes.

Her hand leaves a burning wake from its journey from my side to my stomach. My stomach muscles are contracting and relaxing with each slight movement from her.

I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow.

The moment I let go of the tiniest part of the pressure inside my chest, I feel Spencer pulling me closer in reassurance but I can't fully enjoy it because I know how much this must be hurting her and then it hurts me in return; just in a different way.

She moves closer, resting her head on my pillow. I can feel her soft hair tickling my shoulders and neck, I can smell her, and most importantly, I can _feel_ her.

How can she be gone if she's more real to me than anything?

With her so close, I know my heart is pounding. When her lips touch my neck, I know it's stopped.

* * *

Spencer is the first thing my eyes see when I open my eyes and that's always a good thing. With still heavy eyes, I just look at her. Still loving how she looks when she's in my bed.

"Well good morning," she greets me, dragging out the last word cheerfully.

The corners of my mouth turn up faintly and, for a split second, I consider closing my still exhausted eyes to sleep the day away when I have that abrupt saddening realisation.

It's not like how sometimes you think it's Sunday morning and it's really Monday: It's how I have to see Spencer's grave today.

I know my smile is non-existent.

"I'm going to make you breakfast, okay? Take a shower and it'll be done."

Sitting up in bed, I run a hand through my hair. "Okay," leaves my lips, uncharacteristically quiet.

When I leave the bedroom to shower, I don't even _dare_ to look at my reflection in the mirror.

She made me the pancakes I usually love, but today the light food is sitting heavily on my stomach.

I'm going to see Spencer's grave today.

As the seconds tick by, I feel my legs growing heavier. I feel my need to stay safe inside this house. I feel my need to hold Spencer and never let go.

I'm going to see Spencer's grave today.

My name being called from the only person that could use that tone with me brings me out of my thoughts. "Hmm?"

"We should go."

And I feel my heart pound. "I haven't finished breakfast," I try.

"I think you slaughtered it."

Does she think going to the cemetery isn't going to do the same to me?

Suddenly angry, I roll my eyes at her and put my fork down.

"Are you ready now?" she repeats, setting me off even further.

This is going to kill me.

"Are you?" I snap, aware of the frown on my forehead. "Are you ready to see your own grave?"

Are you ready to see me fall to the floor?

"No," she answers, sounding truthful. "I just think it's time to. I think there are lots of things people are never really ready to do, but they have to do them, regardless."

She's making everything sound so easy. She's making it seem like we're just going to watch a movie I don't want to see. My head shakes as I look away from her.

"What you said yesterday Ashley, prove it. Prove that you can deal with whatever this is, really deal with it."

"You don't know how much you're asking of me right now."

"I do," she replies softly.

I stand up, shocked my feet weren't literally glued to the floor. "Once. I'm doing this once, okay?"

"Once is all it will take."

"Sorry I snapped at you," is mumbled from my lips but the words are sincere.

"Forgiven."

* * *

Like every other time I look at her, I can barely look away as we head toward the deadest part of town. I need to be looking at her and seeing she's still here with me when I inevitably see the illusionary grave.

_It won't be real, it won't be real, it won't be real._

As soon as she tells me we're almost there my legs grow heavier and it becomes just that little bit more difficult to breathe without it sounding like I'm shuddering from an arctic breeze.

When we're eventually standing outside the cemetery, I have to stop. I have to prepare for seeing her grief. This isn't about me.

"The sooner we do this," Spencer begins, sounding careful not to upset me.

She hasn't. I'll be strong for her. "I know," I respond, looking her directly in the eyes.

Watching Spencer open a gate that looks entirely too heavy for her to push —and vaguely hearing her tell me to "Come on" — I genuinely think about how terrified she must be and I fight with myself not to instinctively reach forward and hold her hand, squeezing in reassurance that she'll be okay, I'll make sure of it. And squeezing in reassurance that she's safe, she doesn't need to be scared.

And as I see her face, I know she's terrified.

"Don't be scared, okay? I'm with you," I tell her gently.

Her expression is grateful before she glances to the wall just in front of us which has an archway at the far left-hand side. "They're just around the corner."

She means her family is just around the corner. She's not. She's right in front of me.

My inhalation isn't steady. "Okay." Staring intently at the one face I need to, I notice she's looking to the side of me and wearing a frown. "What are you looking at?" I turn to look in the same direction and try to see what she's seeing.

It's probably just the graves. She knows it's going to be more than difficult to see her family's.

"It doesn't matter, come on."

We begin walking, drawing closer to the other side of the wall, and when we pass it, my heart begins to pound. It pounds so hard and so fast that my eyes are almost lidded as we walk past rows of graves, getting closer to the four we're here for. Three real graves and one illusionary one.

Her pace is slowing and I can already feel the panic building exponentially inside my chest.

_It won't be real, it won't be real, it won't be real._

My eyes stay on Spencer each step of the way, even as she stops.

I think of the first time I heard her speak to me; the first time she saved me; the first time she made me smile with stupid questions when I was trying to sleep; the first time I saw how blue her eyes are; the first time I saw her smile for me; the first time she made my chest tight with that shy look in her eyes; the first time she kissed me.

And how, with all of those, she was slowly bringing this dead body back to life.

"We're here," she announces unnecessarily.

My eyes close.

_It won't be real, it won't be real, it won't be real._

I feel her soft hand slip into my own and thread our fingers together. Wanting nothing more than to scream in an attempt to release the pain that is building mainly in my chest; wanting nothing more than to finally _hear_ the raw sound that I probably won't even recognise as my own voice leave my lips. If I hear it, maybe it will make it better. If Spencer hears it, maybe she'll lie to me. Maybe she'll lie so well that I'll believe everything is okay again.

Instead, I squeeze her hand. I squeeze it so hard that even my wrist is aching.

_It won't be real, it won't be real, it won't be real._

Except —with eyes closed— how I cry, releasing the quietest, strained sob that doesn't even come close to alleviating the suffocating pressure in my chest, I know it is. I know this is going to be as real as feeling Spencer's hand in my own.

As I force open eyes that don't want to open, I turn my head, taking one look at the marble tombstone and read the name engraved into the surface.

And the ground falls from underneath me.

This time I _can_ hear the too-late warning honks of the car that shatters me; this time, just as Michael's knife slides deep inside my chest, I _can_ hear the audience's too-late yelling for me to run faster.

My eyes slam shut and I feel the liquid already pooling inside of them.

I'm cold.

I'm colder than I've ever been and my body feels like it weighs a ton.

My jaw aches and my heart expands further than ever until a deafening thump resounds in my ears, signalling I'm still alive.

How the hell can I be?

Spencer squeezes my hand. "You did it."

I concentrate on her voice. She's still here. She's still holding my hand. She isn't gone. If I open my eyes, I'll still be able to see her.

After a few seconds I hear her sharp intake of breath and clench my teeth together, feeling the muscles in my stomach contract with how hard I'm trying not to release the sob that wants to break free.

I saw Spencer's grave.

Spencer is seeing each member of her family's grave.

My eyes open and I make sure I'm not looking anywhere near to where I'm standing, not wanting to catch even a glimpse of what's next to me, and squeeze her hand tighter. "You did it," I say, aware my voice wasn't above a whisper.

She lets go of my hand to walk forward and as much as I want to urgently demand she puts her hand back into mine, I don't. I know she's probably lost in memories and has to step forward and accept what her eyes are so clearly telling her; what mine clearly told me.

As soon as Spencer turns back toward me, my body goes almost rigid.

Her broken, cold body is only six feet underneath me.

A horrified and foreign sound leaves my lips and I walk away, my legs moving faster with each step until I'm running away from the one thing that is killing me.

I don't stop until I'm the other side of that cemetery gate again and I slump against it, breathing heavily with my hand held over my mouth in an attempt to push back the scream that wants to echo around the entire town.

"Ash," Spencer addresses me, her voice thick with tears.

It hurts me more.

Kind of like the way a comforting rub on your back when you're trying not to cry is always the catalyst for an onslaught of tears.

"Ashley, I'm right here." She puts her hand on my wrist. "I'm right here."

And your broken, cold body is laying in the ground behind me.

My eyes open and I see Spencer. I see her right in front of me looking as alive as she always does.

Except she isn't, and I shiver. I'm so cold.

I'm even colder when she removes her hand from my wrist. "Let's go home, Ashley."

* * *

As soon as we reach the house and walk inside, I walk away from her; my feet moving on their own accord. I feel more detached than I ever thought possible.

I sit down on the floor, slumping back against a cupboard with my eyes closed. I'm seeing everything but what I saw today.

I hear her quietly walk into the room. "Why are you sitting there?"

"I don't know," leaves my lips, lacking any emotion.

And I don't. I don't know why I decided to sit on a cold, hard floor instead of a comfortable couch; I don't know how a body can feel this much pain without being mortally wounded; I don't know how I can still feel my heart beating when, more than ever, I feel like a corpse.

"I'm here," Spencer insists. "I'm right in front of you."

My jaw clenches painfully. Her voice is hurting me more. I can't even open my eyes.

"Nothing has changed, Ashley."

As soon as the words leave her lips, we both know they're a lie. _Everything_ has changed.

* * *

As I stare intently at my reflection, noting the way my eyes have never looked so lifeless, I barely even react. Looking away from a face I can barely stand, I lower my eyes to the water running over my hands and it's only then that I see the amount of steam rising upward in a cloud.

I reach to shut the scalding water off and see the steam rising off my skin.

It's funny; I don't even feel it.

After I dry my hands, they flick all the light switches off as I leave the bathroom and hallway and then enter my room, closing the door behind me.

Getting into bed, I make sure I'm facing away from Spencer. I don't want her to see me like this. I don't want her to see me being as selfish as I am being. She's seen more than me today and she's not acting like this.

I wonder how she isn't. I wonder how she can be so strong.

Our bodies find the same position as last night with her head in the crook of my neck and her hand coming to rest on my stomach.

And I cry.

She's _here_. I can feel her just like I could feel her last night.

Before I know it Spencer's lips are against the suddenly oversensitive skin of my neck and my breath hitches. Feeling my heart pound, I feel her mouth back on my neck half a second before I feel the faintest touch of her tongue against my pulse point.

With how rapidly my body is responding to her being pressed against me and kissing my neck, I can't trap a small moan inside my throat.

I have to apologise before I hurt her. I have to apologise before I'm more selfish than I've ever been.

"I'm sorry," I barely manage to whisper. I want her so much that I'm shaking.

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because I can't stop."

I can't stop my hands from moving their safe distance away from hers till they're _on top_ of hers, brushing their soft skin until I turn over and press my body firmly against hers. Where it belongs.

Spencer's eyes close when I reach up to her forehead and brush some hair away from her eyes, my fingers coming to rest on her unbelievably soft cheek. They travel, brushing over the contours of her gorgeous face and repeatedly brush over her full, pink lips.

I feel my heart pounding.

I want to kiss her so much but I don't want to hurt her more than I already am.

And then her lips are pressed so gently against mine. We savour it: The contact.

My hand instinctively goes to delicately hold the side of her face and then her lips apply more pressure as she grows bolder. Both leaning closer, our movements are less tentative with each second until heads slant, lips part, and kisses grow deeper and wetter.

And I'm on fire.

Not holding back, I kiss her how I've needed to for so long and she kisses me back how I've needed her to for just as long.

Spencer is kissing me how I always dreamed someone would kiss me.

And then I think of what I saw today.

Instead of immeasurably soft, I turn our kisses harder and feel her respond in kind, telling me without words that she's still here.

Grasping the material of the t-shirt on her back, I try not to dig my nails in her back when I try to pull her closer, aware she can't actually _get_ any closer. Even now, she's too far away.

Kissing her harder still, she moans softly inside my mouth and I ignite. My body is reacting faster than ever. In an urgent attempt to pull me closer still, one of her legs slip between my own and I inhale sharply before the lower half of my body instinctively surges against her and I rest my head in the crook of her neck to muffle the moan I can't help but release.

God, she feels better than anything.

My heavy breaths are expelled heavily against her skin until she carefully guides my head back up, sealing her mouth back over mine. It's soft and wet and I hear the sounds of Spencer's soft moans just as I know she can hear mine.

I kiss her until my lungs feel like they're going to explode and then I kiss her one more time before I pull back, drawing in much needed deep breaths to my starving lungs.

Before I've even caught my breath, my head is moving back toward her and I press my lips to hers, instantly noticing how they tremble.

So I pull away from her and feel my heart beginning to beat again. I know she doesn't want to stop but she has to, and I hope my eyes are telling her that it's okay, I understand.

Minutes later with a barely regulated heartbeat, hotter than I've ever been, I turn over and attempt to sleep.


	4. Incinerate

**NotxxWhatxxItxxSeems -** Sweet! Do you have lots left to do on your story? Good. I absolutely agree. And yes, it made perfect sense lol. Why, thank you :D.

**Coachkimm -** Thanks!

**xMaNdYxx -** Thank you :)

**Conscious -** No worries! Aw, you were full of love. You're nice when you're being...nice. :D

**lexj -** Next one is right about here :P

**DeadWitchReading -** Aww, I'm sorry! I know, it's terrible. I'd _like _to think that ghosts are real. Not just because I wrote a story about one, but because it's depressing as hell to think that life ends with...this. Still love that you're enjoying this. About the new story: I'm not sure my friend I've co-written a fic with would want me to post it on here, but if you like, I can PM you with a link to where the story is posted (you don't have to sign up anywhere). Just let me know :)

**That's my pen name -** Haha, T! I wondered who the hell you were all through reading that. Until I got to the end, of course :P. Sorry, it isn't. I didn't want to write it. Thank you ^_^. And thanks for the heads up on the faulty link. I think it's all sorted now :)

**xvolcom11x **- Yeah, I definitely put Ashley through the ringer on this one. Thank you! You have lol. Thaaank you, though!

**jtsec9143 -** I'm glad you think so. Originally I was a little worried both stories would be too similar and I definitely didn't want that. Thank you very much. Sorry to have depressed you lol.

* * *

My eyes open facing toward the window and —almost as if Spencer has brandished me with her kiss— my entire body feels like it's on fire. It feels like it's been scorched to the point where it's unnaturally smooth and marred. In an attempt to cool down, I kick the almost dead-weight of the covers off me.

Pressing our bodies together, kissing her how I've always needed to, her kissing me back has ignited something inside of me. I literally feel like I'm on fire.

Thirsty and only half-awake, I reach for the bottle of water she's always sweet enough to leave for me and drink more than half of its contents in one go. It helps. It cools me down.

And then I notice that I can't feel her eyes on me. I can't feel the slight dip to the mattress where she rests. Turning my head, I'm met with just the sheets.

Now I'm wide awake.

"Spencer?"

Silence.

I wait long seconds, trying to be patient.

"Spence, if you're pulling a really, really stupid prank, you need to tell me."

_Deafening_ silence.

I listen intently for any signs of her and my heart thuds in my chest a few seconds after when I don't hear anything. I'm across the room so fast that I bump into the closed door. Not being able to force my way through it, I reluctantly step back enough for the door to open and then I'm through it.

I'm moving down the stairs so fast it feels like I'm almost flying down them.

I know it hurts her more than anything to touch and kiss me. I can feel it every time our bodies are pressed together. I see it every time I look at her.

I see how much she wants to kiss me even more and I wonder if she knows how much that's returned to her, tenfold. I wonder if she knows how careful I have to be not to just push her down onto the mattress each night, cover her body with my own and wish for her moans to be of pleasure, rather than pain.

I wonder if she knows how scared I am right now.

The living room door is almost knocked off its hinges with how fast I opened it. Unsuccessfully, my eyes scan around in a vain attempt to meet her gorgeous eyes.

That's all I need before I'm out of there. There are other places to search. She has to be somewhere. I have to find her. I have to find her and then force myself not to kiss her.

Walking toward the kitchen, the mere memory of the kiss shared with Spencer just a few, short hours ago is making insides feel molten. It's making even my bones feel weak; like a gentle poke in my ribs would cause them to crumble.

And, as I push open the door and see Spencer shaking on the floor with sounds leaving her lips that certify she's in more pain than I could ever imagine, this body incinerates.

The heart that has been tortured-yet-healed for months turns to ashes. The mind that is mostly filled with exquisite images of Spencer from the past few months turns to ashes. The organs which kept me alive for the past few months when my heart was too full to beat turn to ashes.

The bones which were miraculously able to hold solid after each time I've kissed Spencer — and could surely remain strong against the most ferocious tornado— turn to ashes.

All because seeing Spencer in such pain is a more devastating image than this body can cope with.

Falling to my knees —almost as if I can't quite believe the metaphor wasn't a reality— I gently guide Spencer's face to look at me and try to ignore that her hair is wet from tears by her temples and her back is agonizingly arched.

"Spencer," I feel my lips form the words as I touch her. Their sound is lost to me. Any sound that isn't Spencer's pain is lost to me.

I see her flinch harshly —as if I've smashed a glass bottle across her face— and grit my teeth, a deep frown creasing my forehead.

"Ash, it hurts," she confesses.

And I'm crying.

I'm helpless.

"Tell me what to do. I don't…I don't know," I ask of her desperately, moving my hands to hold hers that won't stop shaking. I have to help her. I have to make it stop. If I hold her hand and concentrate hard enough, I can take her pain away.

My tears fall faster as her entire body racks with pain I can't even begin to imagine. It's my fault. If I had more control, this wouldn't have happened. She wouldn't be in pain because of _me_. "I'm sorry," I whisper, wishing I could yell it from the top of my lungs. "God, I'm so sorry."

I don't think she even heard me.

"My ears hurt."

Oh, god.

I dart across the room for the phone and I'm back at Spencer's side before I can think. Staring at the handset, I don't remember the number I need to call. "What the fuck is the number?!" I yell, as if someone standing by will help me out.

"They can't help me, remember?" leaves her lips, sounding so foreign that if I didn't see her lips move and form the words, I would have never believed it was her.

I see the phone clatter to the floor the same time I see Spencer's body spasm again and a strangled, pained cry escapes her. My vision clears and I know the tears have fallen from my eyes. It's blurred again before they've even made their tracks down my distraught face.

Spencer and I are lost in a foreign country and no matter how loud I scream or how fast my tears fall, no-one can understand me. No-one understands just how imperative and severe this situation is.

My hands are gentle when they're back on her face, trying to wipe away the evidence of her pain before it kills me. "Please tell me what to do, Spence. I don't know how to help you," I plead frantically, grasping at her shoulders and pull her body onto my lap.

I won't let them take her away from me. She's mine.

I don't understand how her body can be so tense, yet so limp at the same time. She convulses again and I hold her tighter. If I hold her tight enough her pain can transfer into me instead. I kiss the top of her head, almost as if her feeling how much I care for her will be the antidote to whatever poison is inside her body.

I don't even think it registers in her head.

"Stop touching me," she whispers.

I can't do that. If I let go, someone could take that as a sign it's okay. They could take it as a sign I'd willingly give up the best thing that's ever happened to me. Still, I know how much my hands being on her must be adding to the agony.

I'm so torn.

"I can't," comes my strained response.

"Ashley, please," she begs.

"Spencer…." Please don't leave me.

Her voice is almost inaudible when she says, "You need to leave."

How could I ever leave you?

"No." I move closer, pulling her tighter against me. "No, I'm not going to just leave you."

I'm not just going to let go and let them take her away. Tears are on her face again and I brush them away, still not wanting to see more evidence of her pain. I kiss her face. I can keep her safe like this.

And then she jerks away from me and the harsh reality comes crashing back down.

"You're making it worse," she admits as more tears fall from her eyes.

More fall from mine and I manage to pull my hands away from her face, keeping them poised on my lap, ready to shoot out and keep hold of her should anything try to take her away.

"Leave," she insists.

"_No._"

Damnit, _no_. They're not taking you away from me.

"Get away from me!" she screams.

And her eyes are screaming to me louder; screaming to back off just a little. The signal from my brain to tell my lips and tongue to say "no" gets lost and scrambled. Instead, I move away from her.

And I can't move back toward her.

I feel like I'm in one of those nightmares where a car is headed right for me and my feet are glued to the earth, and regardless of how much I try to move, I can never get out of the way.

Somehow, I don't think I'm going to wake up before the car reaches me this time.

Spencer's rigid body slackens, her tremors stop, and her back isn't bowed like it was seconds ago. Her breaths are non-existent instead of erratic. With her hands limp by her side, palm facing upward, she's staring at me. Her eyes are so vacant that I question if she can even see me.

For the first time ever, she almost looks….

"Are you okay?" I ask her, terrified.

I'm back inside that nightmare, except now it's Spencer and she's on a railway line with her feet glued to the tracks.

And as the train slams into her and I hear her scream, I still can't move closer to her. All I can do is squeeze my eyes shut so tightly it hurts and cover my ears to block out the haunting echo, feeling tears squeeze out from behind unwilling-to-believe eyelids.

"Ashley," I hear Spencer whisper seconds later, sounding more frightened than I can stand.

I'm back inside this harsh reality that is too much like a nightmare.

My eyes open, ready to comfort her and assure her that it's going to be okay, that I'll do anything to ensure she _stays_ okay, but the words die on my tongue.

I failed.

Seeing nothing but the cold tiles of the kitchen floor where her body lay mere seconds ago makes me want to walk to the deadest part of town and lay down in that small box with her, rest my head on her chest, and cry like the lost little girl I know I resemble.

For a second, I want it so much that I can almost smell the wood.

And then I hear Spencer's practised breaths and I'm transported back.

This can't be happening. "No, please, not again."

"I think…I think it's over," she whispers.

Knowing there's a large possibility I'll never see her eyes again makes me cry even harder. "Baby, I can't see you," I confess to her.

"Yes, you can."

"I can't," I reiterate reluctantly.

"Yes, you can," she replies firmly.

"No I can't!" I yell. "God." My tense body relaxes instinctively. It knows it has to before I literally walk out that door to the deadest part of town. Deader than how I feel inside this kitchen. "I can't see you."

"I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere," Spencer insists. I know she's just trying to make this easier.

It doesn't work. "You are."

"I'm not."

As my eyes close, my head shakes just barely because I still can't believe this. I don't _want_ to believe this. "It's getting worse, Spencer. When I touch you…I can barely pull away. And it's just getting harder. I can't stop touching you and you're fading away right in front of me."

"Don't say it like that."

"Why not?" I shrug. "It's the truth, isn't it?"

"No," she stumbles over her single-word reply.

"We're back to square one. It's nice to meet you, Casper," I say sardonically. It's the only way I can deal with this right now. I'll shut down if I deal with it the other way.

"Don't call me that. Just, shut up. I need to think." She pauses. "You called me baby."

You _are_ my baby; you're my sweetheart; you're just…mine.

"I remember."

She sighs heavily but I know it has nothing to do with my response and everything to do with this current dilemma.

"Where are you?" I ask quietly. I have to be near her.

"I'm where you were sitting when we got home yesterday. In the corner."

I sit down a good distance from her and echo her sigh, deflated. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know yet."

"There has to be something. This can't just happen…not to us."

Not to people in this situation, not when I care about her this much, and not when I know she cares for me just as much.

"There's got be a way."

If I don't see her eyes or the cute mannerisms that so _painfully_ belong to Spencer, I don't know what I'll do. "I don't know what to do, Spence. I really don't know what to do anymore."

"Last night didn't just mean nothing, Ash. We just have to be patient like you told me."

Thinking of last night and how much I just wish I could take her upstairs and repeat the few minutes where I was more alive than ever makes me angry. Only because I know I can't act on that feeling which is almost becoming an instinct. I almost raise my voice when I say, "Last night is what did this, Spence. When we were stupid and got carried away."

When I did the best thing I've ever done.

"We weren't stupid."

"We weren't? I can't see you and we weren't stupid?"

I can barely breathe because of what's happened, and we weren't stupid?

"I still wouldn't take it back."

"That's exactly why we're stupid. Because I wouldn't either and because even though I heard you screaming in pain, all I still want to do is kiss you. All I ever want to do is kiss you."

Spencer's voice is gentle when she says, "Go back to bed, Ashley."

She might as well have slapped me across the face. "Are you kidding me?"

"I need to think. You're not helping."

"You honestly think I could sleep right now?" You honestly think that if I closed my eyes in the darkness I wouldn't see images that would make even the worst of nightmares seem like the softest of dreams?

"You're exhausted. Don't even tell me you're not."

"I'm fine, Spencer." I'm never too tired to be next to her.

"Go to bed. Please."

"No!" I snap. If I leave…something worse might happen. No, I have to keep her safe. "I told you I'm not leaving you. I can't."

"Ashley," she starts.

I shake my head at the sound of her voice. "If you keep saying my name, I swear to god I'll kiss you again."

My eyebrows draw closer together when I don't hear her reply. If she's stood up and left this room…. "And I swear to god if you've left this room when I'm still talking to you…," I trail off, aware my voice was louder in case she really did walk off in a strop.

"Cool your jets. I'm still here," Spencer answers.

I release a quiet breath, relaxing slightly. "Spence?" I begin softly.

"What?" she asks, just as gently.

"What are we going to do?"

What am _I_ going to do if I never see you again?

"We're going to be quiet and stop asking me questions that I don't know the answers to right now," she answers.

It doesn't make me hurt any less.

"Close your eyes," she asks of me.

I close them instantly. I couldn't do a thing to help her or keep her safe earlier, the least I can do now is acquiesce to her request.

"Think of me."

I think of how, just for a few minutes on that video, I saw her alive; I saw her breathing through necessity; I saw her tired features; I heard her carefree laugh; I saw her dreaming.

I nod, telling her through that small action that I'm doing what she asked of me and now I'm captivated again.

"Can you see me? Remember what I look like?"

For now.

I nod.

I still have her picture in my pillowcase and her family photograph is still hidden in my room in case my parents uncharacteristically enter it, but it's not the same. Photographs never do Spencer the justice that seeing her with my own eyes do.

"If you see a light, you better not walk towards it," I tell her, kidding in the way that isn't really kidding at all.

"If you don't shut up, I will."

I know she thinks I was kidding. "I'll kick your ass if you walk towards it. I'll drag you back," I say, meaning "I'll be right behind you".

"Ashley. Get up."

"Why?"

If she tells me to go to bed one more time, I'll scream.

"Put on your coat."

I look to where she told me she was sitting and arch a brow. "To sit here with?"

Does she really think a coat will keep this cold out?

"No, we're going out."

"You feel like taking a walk right now?"

I see my coat in thin air, almost floating toward me. My face barely reacts.

"Put it on and be quick," Spencer demands.

And I'm powerless to deny her, so I put an arm through one of the sleeves and then see my scarf in mid air, moving closer until it's thrown to me.

"It's cold," she explains.

It's warmer out there in the twenty-four degree weather than in here.

Pre-occupied with how she looked on Christmas morning surrounded by snow, I barely hear myself ask, "Spence, I really want to figure this out. Can't walking wait?"

I hear her say "No" clear as day.

* * *

Spencer tells me to hurry up when I'm walking as fast as I can when all I feel like doing is standing still and screaming until my voice is too raw to continue.

And then, as we round the corner, my body comes to a halt. "Oh my god," leaves my lips like the first time we were here. "I can't believe I didn't think of this."

If I was given more time to get over the crushing shock, I know I would have eventually.

"Wait here and close your eyes. In a minute, I want you to look again, okay? Look straight ahead."

They're already closed. "Okay."

I'm praying to whatever higher power is out there that this works. I'm praying I'll be able to see her looking at me with that shy look in her eyes that she wears so well.

She tells me to open my eyes.

And I'm terrified.

"What if it doesn't work?"

"Open your eyes," she repeats.

After taking a deep preparing breath and making sure I'm looking lower than her eyes would actually be, I do. I open them and I fight not to gasp and smile widely before rushing over to her and kissing her in relief that I can see her again. Instead, I focus my eyes on her chest that I had to force myself not to touch a few hours ago.

"Have your boobs grown?" I ask her, genuinely wondering.

"How could they have?" Spencer replies.

I meet her blue, blue eyes. "I don't know."

And then it clicks for her. "You idiot! I thought it didn't work!"

Not being able to help myself, I smile, never taking my eyes off her. Never wanting to. Everything makes sense again. "You don't know what your eyes do to me, Spencer."

"Probably something like what yours do to me," she answers.

God, I hope so.

Spencer steps closer and continues, "Let's just go home. We can figure everything out tomorrow."

* * *

Reaching up to a high shelf for the blankets and pillow I plan to sleep on tonight, I feel Spencer's eyes staring fixedly at the stretch of skin that is now visible where my top has risen up. I'm quick to grab what I was looking for and pull them out. I can't be trusted to keep in control when she looks at me like that. At least, not yet.

"I'll sleep on the floor tonight," I state.

"It's your bed."

"I know."

She has a teasing glint in her eyes when she says, "I won't kiss you, Ashley, if that's what you're worried about. Do you want me to promise?"

My head shakes. That wouldn't be the problem. The problem would be that I wouldn't be able to resist kissing her goodnight. The problem would be that I wouldn't be able to stop. "I can't promise I won't, though. And I know that you're kind of kidding when you say that, but you can't joke around with this. What happened tonight…I can't not see you, Spencer. It was barely for thirty minutes and I was going insane."

"You were threatening me."

"I was going insane," I insist.

She pulls a cute, determined pout. "I'm sleeping on the floor."

"Nice try," I offer as I throw another spare pillow to the floor.

The only reason I don't ask for my own pillow is because Spencer was the last one to rest her head on this one and I might be able to smell her on it. Maybe it will help me to sleep easier.

"Ashley," she starts, firmly.

How could I ask her to sleep on a cold, hard floor when I can still hear her screaming in pain? How can I ask her to sleep on a cold, hard floor when I can still _see_ her screaming in pain?

I grip the blanket that will never keep me as warm as she does and look down to avoid Spencer's eyes. I quickly busy myself by setting up my makeshift bed.

"You were screaming in pain tonight. There's no way you're going to sleep on this floor. Get into bed," I say the last three words gently.

"I'll drool on your pillow," she tells me.

I know I've won the battle.

I nearly smile as I lie down on the floor and move the pillows around to an uncomfortable angle so that I'll still be able to see her when I open my eyes. I know my neck will be stiff in the morning. "No, you won't."

"I could if I wanted to."

My smile is finally there. Sometimes she really is too precious.

She leaves the lights on and I couldn't be more grateful. Knowing all I'll have to do is open my eyes to see her relaxes this tense body. If she doesn't leave, that is.

"Spence?" I whisper, feeling my eyes suddenly heavier than ever.

"I'll still be here," she answers, reading my mind.

It's all I need to be able to sleep.

"'night."

"Goodnight," she responds, sounding like she wants to say something else, too.


	5. Crack the Shutters

Up until the last review I received earlier, I genuinely thought I'd posted this story in full, so I apologise for the extreme delay in posting.

This is the alt chapter to **Speeding Cars **and is the last chapter of this story.

Thank you muchly to everyone who read and reviewed.

* * *

"Don't," I warn her, only partially joking. I've been looking forward to this all day, she can't take it away from me now.

"Don't what?" Spencer asks, a teasing glint in her eyes.

I know she isn't going to listen to me. She's going to do it, regardless. Before I can reach a hand out to stop her, she grabs a handful of fries off my plate and stuffs them inside her mouth sooner than I can half-heartedly screech at her not to.

She takes her time chewing them and she washes them down with more than half of my Coke.

My mouth drops open as she walks away and an indistinguishable sound leaves my lips.

And she laughs, throwing her head back as if I've just said the funniest thing in the entire world.

Catching her off-guard, I run over to her and wrap my arms around her giggling body while still moving forward, sending us both into my spacious pool. As soon as we break the surface and our feet eventually hit the bottom tiles of the swimming pool, I feel her instinctively push away from me use her arms and legs to propel her body upward, back to the surface. I hear the muffled-yet-clear underwater sounds of our bodies moving through the water.

Spencer re-surfaces a second before I do and her breaths are deep as her chest heaves from the surprise and sudden lack of oxygen.

She has that look on her face; the one that tells me she's trying very hard not to smile.

Her hands wipe her face, pushing back her wet hair. "_That_, Ashley Davies, was uncalled for."

"You stole my dinner!" I reply indignantly.

"And you starve me! I'm this—" Spencer flicks me with water, "close to malnutrition."

"Bite your tongue."

She purses her lips before she swims away from me, moving to the shallow end. I'm next to her in record speed and once we're back at the table, we forgo drying our bodies with the towels still resting on the sun loungers, instead, she turns to me with that smile on her face and draws me into her arms.

Not needing to ask what she's doing, my arms find purchase around her neck and I pull her body against mine. Her heart is beating steadily inside her chest and I smile before we each loosen our tight hold on each other and begin dancing slowly.

She holds steadfast eye-contact and it's only then that I notice it.

Her eyes aren't the right shade.

* * *

My eyes flutter open and instead of the heat of the sun on my back, I feel the firmness of the floor in my bedroom. Instead of having to hold up a hand to the bright glare of the sun, my eyes meet a room that, aside from part of it being illuminated by the silver glow of a low full moon, is shrouded in darkness, .

Feeling warmer than I usually feel when sleeping near to a window in January, I turn my head and my breath nearly hitches with what I see.

Spencer is laying next to me with her eyes closed. She looks like she's sleeping.

Excluding the one time on camera, I've never seen her even _attempting_ to sleep before.

I shift, turning over to my side to press the right side of my face against the cold part of the pillow to have a better view of her. She looks like…she just looks like Spencer. She looks like the only person to ever stop my heart. She looks like the only person who will ever stop my heart.

Her eyes open far too quickly and not being able to help myself, I smile first. She looks like she was caught doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing. It's cute.

"I've missed this," I say quietly. "Sleeping and waking up next to you."

"I'm always here, you know that."

"I could seriously just move over right now and fall asleep on you," I confess. Her body looks more than comfortable in the moonlight. Her eyes are shimmering.

"I know."

"No, I mean really," I insist.

"I know," she reiterates.

Thinking of the dream I just awakened from, I settle down even further into my pillow. "I just dreamed about you."

Spencer smiles at that. "Yeah? What was I doing?"

I know my voice is content when I reply, "You were dancing with me."

"I'll dance with you someday, Ash."

"You swear?" I need her to.

"I swear."

And I believe her instantly. My head nods just barely, pre-occupied with how captivating she looked while she was thinking with her eyes closed. "Will you go to sleep for me?" I ask quietly. Spencer's mouth opens — likely to protest — when I continue, "Will you just pretend?" I almost whisper, holding unwavering eye-contact. She knows how much I need this.

So she does. Facing me, she settles down into her pillow and closes her eyes. She knows to breathe slow and steady so her slumber is more convincing to my ears.

After waiting a few seconds to make sure she's not going to re-open her eyes, I watch her intently, my eyes first going to her blonde hair that sometimes I want to run my fingers through more than anything; to her eyebrows that I want to smooth over with my thumbs each time she frowns; her forehead that I want to kiss when she's unintentionally looking more adorable than ever; her nose that I find cuter than what's probably healthy; her chin which is causing my fingers and thumb to twitch with how much they want to trace the smooth surface; her neck that I want to scrape my teeth over, soothing it not even a second later with a sweep of my tongue; and finally, her lips. I hold them there, wishing; _wishing_ I could lean over and press mine to hers like it's all I ever need to do.

I wish there was daylight. I wish it was shining right through the window to land on Spencer and reflect off her hair. I wish she'd open her blue eyes so the sun could prominent them to an even more breathtaking hue.

For just a second, my eyes close to picture it.

And I know instantly, I'm in love.

* * *

Spencer's hand is resting on top of the table and I have to keep my hands shoved underneath my thighs to resist from resting mine on top of hers, lacing our fingers together. It's working so far.

My mother quickly ruins it with her request to pass the milk which is right next to her hand.

"Ashley, can I ask you something?" she asks.

"I'm not doing drugs, Mom."

She looks at me impassively. "You're going out with a potential client's son tomorrow night."

I fight not to scoff. "That wasn't a question. And no, I'm not."

Her surprised eyes finally settle on my face. "Why not? You didn't tell me about any plans."

"Because," I reply, busying myself chewing on a piece of toast. If my hands are full, I won't be so tempted to hold Spencer's.

"Because?" my mother prompts, looking impatient.

"I'm seeing someone," I answer, like it was the easiest sentence I've ever had to say. Thinking of who I'm seeing nearly makes me blush, but I don't. When your mother basically hires you out, it tends to hold off any good feelings.

"Who?"

I'm dismissive when I reply, "Nobody you know."

"I need you to go out tomorrow night, Ashley. It's important."

Her insistence hurts me. "Not my problem. I'm not going."

She leaves. She spoke to me when she needed something and when I declined, that's it. That's our usual conversation for a fortnight. My father didn't even say goodbye. Feeling their indifference for yet another time causes an annoying, yet insistent dull ache in my chest. I make a noise of frustration before pushing myself away from the table, announcing I'm going to shower.

When I look into the mirror, staring as intently as I can, I notice how much brighter my eyes are, but I also notice how dead they still are at times like these. In the shower when the water is running and I can barely see through the steam, I cry.

* * *

"Want me to make you some lunch?" Spencer asks, interrupting the constant taps to my knee.

I'm uninterested. "No."

"It's two p.m., you don't think you should eat something?"

"Nope."

Her voice is gentle when she says, "Forget what your mother said this morning. You said no. Isn't that the end of it?"

"She's trying to whore me out," I say in a much calmer voice than I feel. "'Oh, yeah, hey, I have a daughter who wouldn't put up much of a fight if your son wanted to have a good time, just as long as you sign this contract here that will make me a little bit richer'. It sucks, Spence." I frown in annoyance. "She really pissed me off."

Understatement.

"I'm sure she didn't mean it like that," she tries.

"If she didn't then her communication skills need some serious work because I didn't hear an explanation."

"Maybe she just doesn't know how to talk to you," she suggests.

I know she's just trying to make me feel better. "Stop defending her. I know you hate her."

"I don't hate her, Ashley."

A small smile graces my face. "You do, and that's okay. Sometimes I do, too."

"I admit that I…strongly dislike her sometimes, but I don't hate her. I don't hate anybody."

I turn to face Spencer again and I wear a serious expression on my face. "Seriously? There's not one person you hate?"

"There's no-one. It's kind of a waste of your time, you know. Everyone will see that someday."

I search her eyes for any sign of untruthfulness, but there isn't one. There's not one person on this earth she hates and she genuinely means it. I don't know if I could say a statement like that and genuinely mean it.

I'm not sure whether I should hate the person driving the truck that day, or if I should be eternally grateful. Most times of the day, I'm both.

With my dark mood gone —at least for now— I almost shyly meet her eyes. For a second, I wonder if she can see what I've been trying so carefully to hide from her. For now, she can't. It's best saved for another time. Instead, I just focus on her.

And I can see it; she's going to smile like _that_ again. A smile that breaks my heart and mends it all over again, all in the span of seconds.

* * *

I'm joking about putting poison in my mother's next pot of coffee when Spencer enters the room.

"We need to talk, Ashley."

"I was just kidding, Spence. You know there's no way rat poison alone could take out my Mom."

"Earlier." She steadies her breath like she's nervous. "You said something earlier."

I can't help smiling at her. She's adorable when she's trying to be subtle. "I said a lot of things earlier. Are you fishing for compliments again?"

"No, I meant earlier. This morning with your mom," she clarifies.

My front teeth press down into the flesh of my bottom lip. I'm exhilarated yet nervous to finally establish what we are to each other and how we feel. "Ahh."

"So, um," she begins.

"So, what?"

She stays by the table "I just don't know if it was the right thing to say. I mean, it wasn't totally wrong. I just…," she trails off, sighing.

I'm more than confused. I don't know what she's saying at all. I must have heard her wrong with the adrenaline that's pumping through my body. "You actually think I should go out with that guy?"

"Not him, no." She stops for a second and I release a quiet breath I wasn't aware I'd been holding. She continues, "But, another guy…or another girl." She shrugs gently. "You're not really easy to figure out with that."

My body is almost shattered with the ease in which she seemed to say that. "You want me to go out on dates with other people?" I ask for clarification, as if she's speaking a language I'm unfamiliar with.

In a way, she is.

"Part of me does."

"I can't believe you just said that," I almost sneer. It's a mask for how my heart is beginning to throb. She doesn't mean this. She can't.

"I'm just trying to be honest, Ashley," she replies softly.

What a joke. "Oh, you are? Well, that's awesome. Thank you."

Spencer moves closer. "Don't get sarcastic and defensive. You know I'm not trying to hurt you. I just…can't help but think sometimes that there's somebody better for you. I really can't offer you anything."

My hands clench by my sides. "I'm so sick of hearing that. I've told you before that you can."

"Ashley."

"Is it me?" I cut in before she can say anything more. "Am I not doing enough? Am I not telling you through every _single_ action that you're what I want?" I ask desperately.

I can change this. I promise I can prove how much I need her. I promise I can prove how dead I was before I met her.

"No, you are. You always do enough. But are you telling me that you're willing to wait however long it's going to take for us to be able to touch?"

What a stupid question. "Yes. God, you know I'll wait for that."

"What if it takes thirty years, then what?"

"Then, nothing. I wait."

"You don't know what you're saying, Ashley. Never mind being intimate, I can't even hold your hand."

Her pessimistic attitude is both frustrating and hurting me more than I can bear. My tongue is almost bleeding with three words I want to say to her, but I don't want to say them like this. I can't say them like this. I choose a different set. "I can wait! Why won't you believe me?!" I yell, stepping closer to her.

She looks conflicted. "I do! I do believe you."

It doesn't make sense. Why is she doing this if it's hurting her? "Then _why_? Why do you keep doing this? Don't you think I should get a say in all of this when you willingly shoot me down? I _want_ you. I've always wanted you."

"Because you need to ask yourself, would it be a real relationship? Say somebody else comes along who makes you happy and makes your heart stop, then what? You push them away because of me? Someone who nobody else can see, someone who can't even touch you, someone who doesn't even have a heartbeat?"

She's said those things to me before, and though it still hurts me, I believe with everything I have that nobody will ever come close in making me feel how the girl in front of me does with such an elegant ease that it can sometimes scare me.

She continues on, "Someone who they probably had to scrape off the road."

With one sentence, she nearly kills me. "Shut the fuck up, Spencer."

"I wasn't wearing a seatbelt. I didn't like the restriction."

My eyes squeeze shut instinctively, blocking this conversation out. I can't hear this anymore. It's going to kill me. "Stop it."

"My window was down. I had my arm hanging out of it because I liked feeling the breeze. The truck slammed into my side of the car. It would have come off."

The sound which leaves my lips is so foreign that I wonder if I even made it. I almost check my surroundings, wondering if that statement really did propel my body through the air to crash through the window.

But it's not my body that's bleeding.

I have to leave. I have to stop hearing words that, if ever heard from her again, would positively kill me. And so I do. I turn, heading straight for the front door.

"Ashley, stop. Don't leave."

I walk faster, opening the door with force and slam it shut with even more. God, why did she have to say those things?

I hurry away from the house and keep my head down so nobody sees me like this. My eyesight is blurry with hot tears.

_"Someone who they probably had to scrape off the road."_

My fists clench so hard it hurts.

_"I wasn't wearing a seatbelt. I didn't like the restriction."_

Knowing what happened next tortures me.

_"My window was down. I had my arm hanging out of it because I liked feeling the breeze. The truck slammed into my side of the car. It would have come off."_

I don't know how the visual doesn't kill me.

Sooner than it actually does, I feel a painful blow to my back just before I feel the asphalt biting into the heels of my palms.

And then I hear a sound so loud and sickening that my stomach churns and a darkness seeps in from the corners of my eyes. Before it completely overtakes, it's gone.

Spencer.

Oh, god. Please, no.

My brain is screaming "move!" to my body, but I can only slowly turn my head in the direction of the road, terrified of what I'm going to see.

The bruised muscle in my chest is beating so fast that, just for a second, I can see tiny, silver specs of light that float in front of my eyes. I blink and they're gone.

I blink and Spencer is lying motionless in the road. Her eyes are open, staring back at me like they were the night she almost left me.

I can't breathe. "Oh, god." My body is next to hers in record speed and I kneel next to her, wondering if I should touch her, or if it will just make it worse like the last time. My hands are shaking. "Baby, are you okay?"

After a second, she sighs gently. "I'm fine, Ashley,"

How can she be? "But…you just got -"

"There's not a scratch on me," she insists.

It doesn't ease any of the agony I still feel. I can still her the car slamming into her and I wonder if it'll ever go away. "Spence, I think I'm going to be sick," comes my choked confession.

With a body that feels broken, as if _I_ was the one hit by the car, I stumble to my feet and away from her, only to collapse to my knees, not being able to hold the contents of my stomach in any longer.

And as she holds my hair back, her soft-spoken reassurance doesn't help.

* * *

After hours of thinking, and a dinner I could barely eat, Spencer and I enter a bedroom I fight not to call "ours" and she sits down on the bed. I follow her lead, moving to sit at the head of the bed, while she's at the foot.

"I've been thinking, and you need to let me talk, don't interrupt me because this won't take long."

"Okay," she agrees softly.

I sit Indian-style and try to remember how I said this over and over in my head before I went downstairs for dinner. "Who are you to tell me how to live my life? I don't mean that how it sounds. I'm not trying to be harsh. But if someone told me to do something I really didn't want to do, and something I knew was wrong, then I know you would tell me to do what I felt was right and that I was old enough to make my own decisions. I know you would, Spencer."

And I do. I don't doubt that for a second.

She nods, and so I continue, choosing my opening statement carefully. "I want you. It's that simple. I'm _making_ it that simple. You're what I want and if I have to tell you every single day, then I will. But, please don't tell me how I should live my life. Don't you think that everybody deserves to live the way that makes them the happiest, regardless of what other people say? And you do that for me, you know? I really wasn't lying when I said you're all I can see. You're everywhere, you're even in my dreams." I think of the dream I had last night and fight not to sigh. "I know that it isn't going to just end here. I know that sometimes we're both going to hate this more than we can bear, but I would rather have this than nothing."

Spencer nods softly once more.

Knowing I have to get this off my chest, I do just that. "I was trying to imagine it today, what it would be like if you weren't here, and you don't know what an ugly picture that would be. You don't know what I was like in LA. I hated everyone. They were so fake and I hated school with them so much, which is why I worked my ass off and got done a year early. I'm just…I'm better when you're with me, and I need you to stay. You need to stop being so harsh by saying things to try to change my view on this. I'm stubborn, so it won't work."

All it's going to do is kill me.

Spencer smiles faintly and after a second, it slowly falls away. "I still mean everything I said, Ashley," she answers gently.

"I do, too."

She looks down and then back up. "You need to know that I don't like it when I feel as though you're putting your life on hold for me. It doesn't make me happy, Ash. It makes me feel like I'm such a terrible person."

I don't think she understands that when she says things like that, I fall just that little bit harder.

"You're not terrible, you're perfect. And what about what I want, what about what makes me happy? I know on some level I make you happy, too. You don't smile at anyone else like you do for me. I watch you smile at people when they're not looking, and it's different." I know it's not wishful thinking.

"You do make me happy, Ashley. Don't ever doubt that. It's just that I have a lot of time to think and, of course, I think about you and us, and I can't stop thinking of all the different ways this could go. I don't want it to seem like I'm playing games with you, because I swear I'm not. You _know_ I would never do that to you."

Yeah, I do know. My eyes close upon hearing her heartfelt words and seeing her sincere face. God, I love her.

"I know that, Spencer."

"What's wrong?" she asks me softly.

"I'm so tired," I admit. I'm too tired not to surrender when she asks me to.

"Then go to sleep," she suggests, beginning to move off the bed.

"No, not tired like that," I dismiss.

Spencer moves back to her previous position. "What do you mean?"

"You got hit by a car today. You got hit by a car and there literally isn't a scratch on you."

"I know."

"I didn't see it, but I heard it." The memory haunts me all over again and I fight not to let the tears fill my eyes. "I can still hear it. It won't go away," I whisper as my eyes close briefly. "I haven't even said thank you."

God, what is wrong with me? She saved my life.

Again.

"There's no need," Spencer assures me. "I'd do anything for you." She pushes her hand toward mine but remains careful. She keeps her voice quiet, yet strong. "You're everything to me, did you know that? You don't have to say thank you."

With softly-spoken words, it feels like she has her hands around my heart and is squeezing with all her strength. I nod, aware that the attempt I made not to cry was futile. I have to say it. I have to say it and every bit of tension I can feel in my body will leave. It has to.

"Spencer…," I trail off, my vocal chords refusing to co-operate. I'm so scared to say it. I've never said it to anyone.

I feel it. Looking at her right now, God…I _feel_ it. I feel it more than I've ever felt anything.

Spencer's open expression is surely my cue to go on and as I take note of the look of pure adoration in her eyes and store it away in my memory, I draw in a shuddering breath, now certain I can say it, and certain I have the _strength_ to say it.

"I love you," leaves my lips with conviction.

I've never meant anything more.

And as I see her face light up like never before, I can't help more tears from forming because I said it. I said it and I _feel_ it more than ever.

I don't need to ask if she loves me, too.


End file.
